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“You’re not denying having feelings, then.” With no reply, Mara pressed on. “And might I remind you — you employ her to look after your mum.”

Frances looked down. “Technically, I don’t. I don’t pay her.”

Mara’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Was that your idea? To ease your conscience?”

“No,” Frances snapped, meeting her gaze. “It was hers.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Then, Mara reached for her coat and finally put it on.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, “I like Lucie. But have you asked yourself what she’s getting out of this... arrangement? It’s not an easy job. Why would someone you barely know volunteer for it?”

It was a fair question, one she’d asked herself more than once. She’d always settled on the simplest answer: that Lucie was kind, that she liked to help. It couldn’t be for the reason Mara was hinting at. That she might feel the same, despite how much she wanted it to be true. It was safer to call it kindness and leave it there.

“You’re a grown woman, Frances — and my boss — so it’s none of my business.”

“And as my friend?” Frances asked softly, hoping Mara remembered there was more to their relationship than work.

“I’d advise keeping your distance until she no longer works here.”

“And then?”

Mara rested her hand on Frances’s shoulder as she opened the front door. “Think about your heart. Is she even likely to stay in Winterbourne? Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Frances returned, her mum was rifling through a stack of VHS tapes as Lucie cleared the table.

“Everything okay?” Lucie asked as they converged in the kitchen.

“Yes, fine.”

Lucie’s raised eyebrows said she didn’t believe it.

“She’s worried about me... us... becoming too reliant on you. That’s all,” Frances said quietly, hoping it was enough to end the topic.

“Oh.”

“Lucie, come and help me choose a film,” Rose interrupted. “You can stay for a bit, can’t you?”

“I can, yes. Let me have a look.”

Lucie glanced back at Frances but then to her relief, let the conversation drop.

Within five minutes, they were settled in, watching Singin’ in the Rain at Lucie’s request.

Frances was growing fond of spending a few hours next to her on the sofa. There was a contentment in the action she hadn’t realised she’d been missing. Being together like this felt right.

Her mum leaned back, laughing at the antics on the television, the corners of her eyes crinkling with genuine delight. It was rare to see her so at ease, so like her old self. Frances held on to the moment, savouring it.

Lucie, too, seemed relaxed, with her feet tucked beneath her, casually getting up to top up drinks. Today, though, she was quieter, as if something was playing on her mind — perhaps the sudden appearance of Mara had unsettled her.

Their legs brushed beneath the blanket that Lucie had draped over them, and neither moved away. A rush of warmth hit her all at once. Could Lucie have the same flutters, the same pull when they were together, the same aches when they were apart? If she did, was she avoiding acting on them because of their situation?

As the film ended, Lucie nudged her and nodded towards the armchair. Her mum had fallen asleep.

“I better head off,” she said quietly, shifting round to face Frances. “Before I go... I need to tell you something. Mara asked earlier about my plans. I didn’t want to say anything before speaking to you.”

A tightness gripped Frances’s chest. She was almost too afraid to hear it.

“A job has come up. In London.”